Ben looked confused.
“Sorry,” I said. “It wanted to get loose and was moving against my hand. Kind of gross.”
“Kind of gross, huh?” He laughed.
I nodded. What should I do now?
Then I felt his warm fingertips brushing against my collarbone, and I looked down, shocked to see his hand on my necklace.
He took a step closer, and was practically touching me. Standing so close, I had to look up at him to see his face.
“Your star was crooked,” he whispered.
But he’d straightened it.
… and still had his hand there.
A strange feeling flooded over me, and immediately I knew what was going to happen next. In that split second I saw it all playing out in front of me. Like a scene from a movie.
It should have been a moment of shivery breathlessness, yet I only felt… betrayal? Wait. That can’t be right.
Ben tilted his head down, and I said the first thing that came to mind. “It was a gift.”
He paused, and smiled. “Oh, yeah? From who?”
“Kristen.”
As soon as I said her name, I knew that was where the feeling was coming from. I was betraying Kristen. Or more so, I was betraying the fact that Ben once had a crush on Kristen, probably still did to some extent, and if I kissed him right now it would be like kissing my dead best friend’s almost boyfriend.
Not cool.
Ben stiffened and jerked his head back, almost like he was thinking the same thing. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture I found oddly familiar but couldn’t place. “Abbey,” he said suddenly. “It’s getting late. I should go.”
Could he tell what I was feeling? “Okay,” I said. “Well, um, thanks for coming and all that.” Now it was going to get awkward.
Clearly, he didn’t know what to do either, because he kind of leaned in for a half hug and patted me on the back. “So, happy birthday. And I guess I’ll see you at our next science session.”
“Yeah. Thanks for coming, Ben.”
He nodded once and then turned back toward the house, disappearing inside. I headed to the porch and sat down again on the second step next to what was left of my birthday cake.
“That was weird,” I said out loud. “Really weird.”
Overhead, the distinct rumbling sound of thunder broke through the distance, and seconds later a jagged piece of greenish lightning lit up the sky. The loud boom that came after the lightning made me jump, but I stayed where I was.
I wasn’t ready to go inside yet. I had more cake to finish.
˜ ˜ ˜
I stared out my bedroom window, watching sheets of rain cascade down the glass pane. Mom and Dad had said good night an hour ago, with Mom tipping slightly to one side, and I’d been getting ready to change for bed when the lightning had lured me over.
There was something strangely beautiful about this storm. The trees outside were swaying in the wind, dipping low as they bowed to one another. A scattering of leaves lay on the streets, and every now and then one got caught up in the current of shallow runoff and went dancing merrily along its way. Although it was pitch-black in the yard below, I could almost see the wet, spiky blades of grass and new flower buds turning their faces up, eagerly soaking in the moisture.
I needed to create a perfume that evoked a summer storm. Cut grass, frantic wind, the heady scent of rain… with just a touch of fresh sheets drying on the wind. And I needed something powerful and strong, a dry scent to mimic thunder. Perhaps vetivert or fennel?
A yawn interrupted my thoughts, and I stretched my arms over my head. The soft pounding of rain on the roof was like a soothing melody, something rhythmic and primal. I gathered several pillows, moved them to the end of the bed, and lay down with my head where my feet should go. I could watch the storm better that way.
I felt safe and warm in my little cocoon. And when I closed my eyes, lightning still played behind my eyelids. Dancing and leaping in strange, crackling patterns…
Thunder rolled and echoed all around me, but I knew I was dreaming, because the storm was inside my room. White forks of lightning crackled and spread across the ceiling, and climbed down the walls like vines. Every time the thunder sounded, it spread through the vines with tiny pulses of electricity.
Then I noticed a cloaked figure sitting on the edge of my bed. It was Kristen.
“Take a walk with me, Abbey.” I could hear her voice as clear as day, but her lips weren’t moving. “Let’s take a walk.”
And suddenly we were in the cemetery. On the far side. Away from the main gates.
My feet were moving even though I tried to stop. The tips of my toes dragged along the hard ground as I floated along. Hovering, just above the bare earth, yet still touching.
“Where are we going, Kristen?” I asked.
She turned her cloaked face to me and pointed straight ahead. I recognized the twisting path immediately. It led to Nikolas and Katy’s house.
I sucked in a breath. Nikolas and Katy weren’t real. Having tea with the Headless Horseman and Katrina Van Tassel from “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” was just something that I’d made up. We had to be going somewhere else.
We walked on. It felt like hours, and gradually I noticed that everything around me was damp. The ground, the trees, the springy ferns that reached for our legs. It was raining, but I wasn’t getting wet.
Neither was Kristen.
We came to a heap of old stones and rotting shingles. Dead wisteria clung to what was left of the fallen-in stone fireplace, and chills ran down my spine. What had happened to their house?
Kristen stopped and turned, pushing back the hood from her face. Her hair was soaking wet. “Go,” she said.
I shook my head. “Not without you, Kristen. Come with me. Please come with me?”
“I can’t, Abbey. I can’t go with you. You’re all alone.”
A clap of thunder woke me up, this time for real, and I was seconds away from screaming. It’s in my room. The thunder is in my bedroom! Lightning illuminated the outline of my bed for a moment, clearly showing that the storm was outside where it was supposed to be. I gazed around me. It’s not in here. It was just a dream. Nothing to be afraid of.
Sometime during the night, the rain had turned softer. Instead of sounding like a fleet of soldiers marching across the roof, now it was only a steady drum in the background. I flicked on my nightstand lamp and got up to go look out the window.
The bushes next to the trees moved a little, and I watched, waiting to see what was there. Then they moved again. I grabbed a blanket off the edge of my bed and started walking to the stairs. The porch swing was covered, so it would be dry, and had a better view. I could sit there and see what it was.
As soon as I stepped out the front door, a cool breeze reminded me that all I had on was my thin white summer dress, and I wrapped the blanket around myself.
I sat down on the swing and drew my feet up underneath me. Gradually, I was able to make out each tree and bush separating our yard from Mr. Travertine’s. Within a couple of minutes the bushes moved again, and then a deer came forward. He was all spindly legs and white spots and showed a sleek neck as he nibbled on some wet grass.
A bunny hopped out next to him, and I couldn’t stop the little “awww” that escaped me as he nibbled on the grass too and they ate side by side. It was like watching live-action-theater Bambi.
But something must have spooked the deer, because all of a sudden he looked up and then ran away. I tilted my head slightly to watch it. Were deer afraid of other deer?
Except… the shadow that moved now wasn’t a deer. It appeared to be more… human-shaped. I held very still. Is someone out there? Maybe they haven’t noticed me.
But I knew who it was. With every fiber of my being, I knew it was him. Caspian.
He took a step forward, and I swear I felt his eyes burning holes into me. Even in the darkness I could see his white-blond hair. His silhouette stood out
against the trees, and somehow I knew this wasn’t a dream or a hallucination.
He was here.
Blanket left behind, I stood up and moved across the grass. With every step I took, I dug my bare feet into the wet earth, forcing myself to feel. Every move I was making was real. This was real.
He disappeared again, back into the shadows, but I saw him as soon as I reached the trees. He was leaning up against the broad trunk of a solid oak.
Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I choked back tears. Did this mean I was still crazy? That I always was? “Caspian… ,” I heard myself whisper.
He didn’t respond, but there was a rustling sound, and I opened my eyes again.
He’d moved closer, and in the darkness I could see bright green eyes. Their shocking color tore right through me, and my world tilted crazily. I’m falling.…
Grabbing on to the tree for support, I stopped myself from pitching over. I cursed as I saw everything so clearly. It was happening again.
“I missed you, Abbey,” Caspian said quietly. “I know it’s wrong. That I shouldn’t be here—” He stopped and ran his hands jerkily through his hair. “God, Abbey, I missed you.”
My heart somersaulted, and I wanted to fly into his arms. Started to, then stopped myself. Remembering. “I don’t even know if you’re real. How can I see you? You’re dead.”
“I don’t know why you can see me. We’re both just… here.”
“But why are you here? I had to leave town. I had to go see a specialist. I thought I was crazy. Seeing things that weren’t there. You, and Nikolas and Katy…”
“Is that where you were? I thought you just stopped coming to the cemetery.”
“Of course I stopped going to the cemetery. Last time I went there, the boy I thought I was dating told me that he couldn’t love me because he was dead! I don’t know if I’m more pissed off at you for making me think I was crazy or for making me think you were alive.”
“I thought you’d be mad that I lied about not loving you,” he said softly.
“You lied about… not… loving… me… ?”
He nodded, and the stripe of black hair that normally angled across his forehead fell into one eye.
“You love me?” I whispered.
He looked at me and said very clearly, “I think I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you, last year in the cemetery.”
I stared down at my hands. Once, I would have been happy to hear those words. Now they just left me feeling even more confused.
“But you… I’m… You said that—”
“If you’re mad, be mad,” Caspian said. “I’ll take that over…” He shook his head. “The last time I saw you, I thought I… broke you, Abbey.” His voice came out in a whisper.
“You did.”
His eyes were horrified, and I wanted to explain, to make it all better… but I couldn’t.
“You really messed with my head, Caspian.” I laughed quietly. “Obviously, you are still messing with my head if I can see you again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Some part of my brain is messed up.”
“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing,” he offered.
“How can it not be a bad thing? I see dead people.”
Caspian looked away, and shoved his hands into his pant pockets. “Who was that guy here earlier?” he asked, changing the subject. “The one you were getting hot and heavy with.”
He almost sounded jealous, and I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. “I was not getting hot and heavy. And his name is Ben. He’s just a friend.” I flushed with the memory of what had almost happened. “He was here for my birthday dinner.”
“Today’s your birthday?”
I shrugged. “It was.”
“Happy birthday, Astrid.”
His words filled me with warmth, but I tamped down on the feeling. “So now what, are you stalking me? Hiding out in the bushes, watching?” I thought about the day I came home, with the kid and the dog. “Have you been here before? In the daytime?”
“Sometimes I stop by when I’m out just walking around,” he admitted. “At first it was to look for you. But then I thought you were avoiding me, so I tried to stay away.” He kicked at a loose branch by his foot. “I guess I couldn’t stay away tonight.”
A loud bark suddenly had both of us lifting our heads. Nearby, Mr. Travertine shuffled sleepily along the perimeter of his porch, clearly not very happy about the task of letting his dog out for an early-morning walk.
The dog barked again, and it sounded like he was coming closer.
“I’m gonna go,” Caspian said. “And you should get back inside. You’ll get sick if you stay out here too long.”
He stepped away from me and gave me a sad, final look.
“Where does this leave us, Caspian?” I called out softly. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know, Abbey,” he replied. “But whatever it is, I guess we’re not meant to do it together.”
Chapter Nine
SHELTER
To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace.
—“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”
The next morning I woke up full of confusion. Last night had really happened. I’d washed mud and grass from the bottom of my feet. Caspian was real. And he’d said he loved me… But did it mean anything? Could it mean anything? He was dead. That threw a slight complication into the mix.
I got out of bed and knelt down, feeling underneath it for the necklace. Looking at it in the daylight, I traced the red cursive letters, spelling out the name Astrid, trapped forever beneath tiny glass squares. The edges were soldered all the way around with a shiny metal, and a black satin ribbon hung from a small O-shaped ring at the top. The other necklace he’d given me was tucked away in the back of my sock drawer.
Very slowly, I put it on.
It felt like it belonged. Like it was meant to be there.
The house was curiously quiet when I went downstairs. I couldn’t tell if Mom and Dad were gone, or just sleeping off the effects of last night. I ate a quick bowl of cereal and then scrawled “Going out. Be back later.” on a notepad next to the fridge. I didn’t need Mom freaking out if she woke up and couldn’t find me.
I capped the pen and slid it back into the little clip that held it in place, then made my way out the door. I headed up the hill and started walking toward the cemetery. I wanted to see Caspian again. I had so many questions.
The warmth of the sun felt good at first, but it didn’t take long for me to start getting hot and sticky. I pulled my damp shirt away from my back and used my hand to fan my neck. Almost there. It won’t be much longer now.
I just hoped that I’d be able to find him, or at least a sign of him.
The cemetery gates came into view, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Weeping willows, cherry trees, and great oaks lined each pathway. A profusion of fresh green buds and flowers bursting with new life filled the grounds. A mower sounded, and suddenly I craved the scent of freshly cut grass.
I checked down by the river first. We’d met there so many times that it seemed like that was where he would be. I scanned underneath the bridge, and the top of it too, but he wasn’t there.
I walked slowly through the cemetery, checking behind upright tombs for any type of crawl space or cubbyhole that he might have found. Several mausoleums were next, and I tried each door latch. But they weren’t giving up their secrets, or their dead, and I was forced to move on.
The mower sounds grew closer, and I sat down in a clearing of grass to wait while it went by. Keeping my eyes peeled, I scanned the hillside looking for him. A flash of his clothing, or hair… Caspian had to be here somewhere. Of course, he has acres and acres of room to roam, and I could never run into him.… I pushed that thought aside.
Something told me to head in the direction of the Old Dutch Church next, so I went that way. There was an old shed behind it. Maybe h
e would be there.
It was chained, but one of the doors was loose and wobbled back and forth when I nudged it. I stuck my face up to the crack and peered into the semidarkness. There were a couple of tools inside, and some lumpy covered things in the back. If I could just see a little more. I wiggled the door on its hinge, and it gave up a new position. Sunlight streamed in toward the back revealing… a bunch of wheelbarrows and one rusty lawn mower that looked like it hadn’t been in service for a long time.
I didn’t know what to do next. Should I wander around some more? Go to the other side? Or maybe I should head back to the main gate. He could be over there.…
Sudden movement caught my eye, and I lifted my head. It was a flash of white-blond hair. A figure was standing next to a giant mausoleum built into the hill near Washington Irving’s grave.
Trying very hard not to get my hopes up, I watched him walk toward the far side of the cemetery. Once he was just a speck on the horizon, I started up the path to the mausoleum.
Excitement warred with nervousness when I reached the top of the hill and came face-to-face with the crypt. It was a familiar one. I’d passed it every time I’d come to see Washington Irving’s grave.
Glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, I moved closer to the door and put my hand on the latch. It gave way, and the door swung inward with surprisingly little resistance. I found myself in a large, windowless stone chamber. Several stubby candles littered the walls and were burning steadily.
The change in temperature was palpable, and instantly the sweat puddles on the small of my back dried. I had a sudden flash of fear as I envisioned the crypt looming up and closing around me, swallowing me into the bowels of the earth while I screamed for help.… Don’t think that!
I shook off the mental image and put out a hand for balance. The walls were cobwebby and I yanked back fingers covered in strings of spider filament. I tried to brush them off on the rough denim of my shorts, but they seemed to stick to everything.
I looked closer at one of the candles. They were dusty and yellowed with age. Clearly from an earlier era. Tracing my finger along the trail of wax drippings, I noticed that they had a heavier, grittier feel than the smooth remnants that dripped off the candles I burned. What were they made of ? Lard? Tallow?